TOTD 13: Skin in the Game
by robinwitch1
Summary: Tales of the Dragonborn, 13. The Synod researcher finally settles down, worried about the lengths he and the Brotherhood might have to go to keep the Empire together, but consoled by his brilliant adopted daughter, the Khajiit orphan Zahana, his slightly crazy volunteer grandmother, the Dragonborn's daughter Shah'issol, and a new but very close friend...


Skin in the Game

It has been five years now since that winter night on the Dawnstar road. Much has happened since then, most of it surprising, nearly all of it good, at least as far as my own life is concerned. Perhaps what has surprised me the most is that so much of it has been good.

Shah'issol had had a challenge to bring our tiny discovery back to full health. The poor child was badly frostbitten on the ears and paws and tail, especially the last, but between Shah'issol's Restoration magic and a few rough and ready measures that the orcs were familiar with, battlefield first aid, we managed to head off any permanent harm to her skin and flesh. She lost most of the fur on the affected areas, though, and when this grew back, it had undergone a permanent change in color from its original deep brown-black to a glittering silvery white, like the fur of a snow fox, but glossier and finer. She would have been a beauty in any case, tiny, slender, and long-limbed, her fur a solid night-brown, her eyes a deep, glowing gold, but her hard-won ermine trim makes her unique, one of a kind in appearance as well as in character.

As soon as I could, I asked the child her name. Thank goodness, since she had been traveling with a caravan, she had picked up enough of the common tongue for us to communicate despite her youth. She told us that her name was Zahana, and that she had been an orphan.

"Mother, father, long ago dead. All caravan dead now, right? Bad people came. Zahana hid, so cold, so dark, Zahana cried. Then good people came, you and big green men, helped me, made me warm again. Big green men scary, but nice to Zahana, so nice, Zahana not scared of them any more now. Good big green men." I made a mental note to pass the compliment on to the orc brothers; I could guess how much they would appreciate it. It would do something to make up for the small bodies with their throats cut that they had wept over earlier.

Zahana reached up with one tiny paw, touched her bandaged ears, and then looked at me with her enormous golden eyes. "Ear still there? Cold hurt my ear, can't feel it."

"It will be all right," I said. "It was hurt, but it will all get better again quickly."

She nodded and lowered her paw. "Going where? You live in house, on farm, in caravan? Zahana afraid of caravan, too many bad people, mother, father died in caravan, all died now."

"House," I replied. "I have a place in the Imperial City. You can live there with me. I'll find someone to teach you your own language, the Khajiit language, and I can help you to learn to read and write the common tongue. It's still peaceful there." _Peaceful? Cross fingers_, I thought as soon as the words were out of my mouth. _You've made a commitment now._

Zahana's eyes, always huge, widened even further when I said "Imperial City." Hearing the gossip of traders all her life, she must have come to think of it as almost a mythical place, a shopkeeper's Sovngarde. She curled up under her blanket and held onto my fingers, closing her eyes, sleepy. Her voice trailed off, softer and softer.

"Live in your house, Imperial City, so big and fine a city. Zahana safe there. You there, good green men, good lizard lady, kind men, kind elves, black man, Zahana never _saw_ black man before, kind black man, Zahana sad, black man sang to Zahana, Zahana happy. Happy place..."

She was asleep.

I turned around to find Shah'issol standing just behind me. She laughed softly.

"_Good lizard lady_... I liked that. Especially the _lady_. Better than _boots_, anyway. There's usually little love lost between Khajiit and Argonians, but they can't have been bigots in that caravan. And now they're dead. Just the way it always turns out. All the good ones die, and we're left trying to keep the peace among the leftovers."

"No choice," I said, and shrugged. "And I told her the Imperial City is peaceful, too. I suppose that means I have to spend the rest of my life trying to keep it that way."

"It's called having skin in the game," Shah'issol said, and punched me gently in the shoulder. For a very, very old lady, sometimes she can be an infernal tease. "Don't worry, _daddy_. You won't have to do it all alone."

-o-o-o-

Shah'issol also managed to take care of two of our other problems, disposing of the goods from the wrecked caravan and disposing of the dead with proper respect. Leaving us to hold the fort for a few days, she rode over to Dawnstar on her mom's old fetch-steed, Arvak, to visit the Brotherhood sanctuary just outside town. A few days later, several of the Nord Brotherhood members sent carts to the site of the attack, telling their neighbors they were off on a looting expedition. Instead, they came to salvage the goods and treasure that would become Zahana's inheritance, as sole survivor, when she reached her majority. It was a tricky business to arrange, since for all we knew, some members of the band of bigots that had wiped out the caravan might live in town – in spite of the relatively liberal attitude of its Jarl and a few prominent local residents, Dawnstar has always been a hotbed of nativism. However, working through local people gave us the cover that we needed. The perishable goods were quickly sold; the gold and precious objects were put into storage in the Dawnstar Sanctuary, where they would be safe until called for.

The carts from Dawnstar brought enough wood and other fuel for us to light fires to soften the ground so that we could bury the dead. Even so, it was not practical to dig very deep, but once the grave was filled in, it would be almost impossible to desecrate for the same reason that it had been so challenging to excavate in the first place. Shah'issol cast some simple warding spells on the grave site after we had finished, and that was enough to keep the burials secure until we returned the next summer to construct a more permanent mausoleum.

-o-o-o-

After we arrived back in the Imperial City, I drew up duplicate reports, one for the Synod, the other for the Brotherhood, an amusing reflection of the double life I now led. I must say that the Brotherhood made better use of the information. The Synod merely lamented the situation and did little else. The Brotherhood, on the other hand, has been behind the elimination of more than a score of the most dangerous nativist rabble-rousers over the past few years, concentrating on those closest to home, but going further afield, as far as the Summerset Isles in one case, if the figure in question was judged enough of a menace. The imperial court knows what is going on, but being too weak to help, finds it most convenient to look the other way and pretend it knows nothing. By constantly varying assassination methods, remaining in the shadows, and spreading rumors to play on the superstitious fears of the rural population, we have managed to convince more and more of the simpler sort that leaders who advocate extreme forms of racial and ethnic prejudice lie under a curse from the gods. As, no doubt, they do, with us no more than the instruments of divine displeasure.

Still, what we are doing troubles me. With no mandate from either princes or their subjects, we enforce our own concept of morality and punish others for falling short of a secret standard that we define and impose without their participation, or even knowledge. The only others whom we sometimes consult are our colleagues in the Thieves' Guild, and once in a while, if they have a direct interest in the case, members of the Volkihar vampire clan. We keep the power of life and death in our hands alone. Not even the Night Mother is involved: she does not express an opinion on these purely political operations, our Listener has told me, whether to approve or to disapprove.

We have become a law unto ourselves, not just as servants of Sithis carrying out the occasional contract killing, but as a covert political force with a program and an agenda, perhaps the strongest single force outside the courts of the Jarls. That doesn't seem entirely right. I can almost hear Mehrunes Dagon laughing from his cold northern mountaintop. But if we fail to act, Tamriel will fall into ruin and deadly chaos as hatred and ignorance throw up unworthy leaders for all of the Ten Races and they batter each other to death seeking the prize of supreme power. There is no one else to do it – and no time to lose. We have taken on the task of _pruning_ the Ten Races, as one of my colleagues has said. In so doing, we walk the dangerous path of doing evil that good might come, and find out day by day how easy it is to do the evil, and how difficult to ensure that enough good comes of it to make the whole effort worth while.

"Just like mom," Shah'issol had remarked. "Now that you've learned something about the path she had to take, fate seems determined to make you follow it yourself. At least you have a better idea what you're up against."

Officially, Shah'issol was lingering in the Imperial City on a research project of her own that required access to the Imperial Archives. It was a real project, but still more or less of an excuse. Zahana was, and is, what holds her here. Most of the time, Shah'issol lodges in my rooms, sleeping on the couch in the study, babysitting Zahana, teaching her the rudiments of magic and alchemy, and enjoying herself enormously.

"I skipped the 'mother' thing completely," she said to me once, explaining why she spent so much time at home with my daughter. "Became a teacher-bureaucrat instead. _Blech_. So I have to make the most I can of my luck in snagging a post as honorary grandmother. It's been great fun so far, and very instructive. I feel appreciated by you both.

"I've never seen a Khajiit with the talent for magic that she has. Most of the ones you find in Tamriel couldn't cast a spell to save their lives. She may have Dagi or Dagi-rhat blood, not that anyone here knows much about those two types of Khajiit other than their small stature and their spellcasting abilities. There's something in her background that I can't pin down, and probably never will, but she's incredibly bright.

"You know, Zahana made me promise yesterday that I wouldn't die of old age until I had a chance to attend her wedding. Odd thing for a nine-year-old child to say. On top of everything else, I think she's becoming a bit of a seer. Like a lot of orphans, she has definite tendencies that way."

"You're certainly triumphantly defying the ravages of time," I said in response. "More like an elf than an Argonian."

"Well..." Shah'issol paused for a moment to think. "It just struck me a little while ago that I'm not actually sure _what_ I am. My birth mother was Argonian, I know that, but what of my birth father? We've always assumed that he was an Argonian as well, but there's no proof. Children acquire nearly all of their visible traits from their mother's side. I know that my birth mother was traveling with elves as well as other Argonians when all of them were killed. Perhaps I have Dunmer or Bosmer blood from my father's side, and it's slowed my aging. I'll never know, but it's possible. Is anyone _ever_ truly pure blood? You have to wonder."

"Stick your finger in the fire," I said, with a smile. "If it doesn't fall off after you pull it out, you're at least part Dunmer. If it falls off, and you have the urge to eat it, you're Bosmer."

Shah'issol stuck her tongue out at me. "Very funny. Though come to think of it, I have been in situations where I've been less scorched than I expected to be. Fire spells, not ordinary flames. Perhaps one day I'll be able to think up a relatively painless experiment to settle the matter one way or another."

-o-o-o-

In the next six months, the Brotherhood's political involvement will come to a head, one way or another. We have to decide whether to take a final, decisive step, or pull back and hope things work out for the best without our active participation.

The Emperor is old and ill, and we have it on good authority that he cannot live longer than a few months. He has three sons. The heir-apparent and the middle son are much the same sort of person: not wicked, by any means, but indecisive and muddle-headed; in fact, frighteningly weak. If either of them takes the Dragon Throne, we will be hard-pressed to keep the situation from worsening. The Emperor's youngest son, on the other hand, is active and restless, someone more likely to take command of the situation than yield to it. But since he has never expected to become Emperor, he has already made a small army of enemies with his outspoken boldness. Not the least of his "offences" is marriage to a half-Dunmer, unlike his brothers, who both wed pureblooded Imperials from good families, and he openly praises his wife as a second Empress Katariah, more a co-ruler than a consort. She is an _extremely_ intelligent woman with friends and contacts among all the Ten Races, inseparable from her husband and as restlessly active as he is, but as one might imagine, her brilliance and breadth of vision have drawn as much envious criticism as praise. The two as yet have no children, and since she has elven blood and is besides much younger than her spouse, she might well take the Dragon Throne herself one day if he should follow his father as Emperor. A part-Dunmer empress, as consort or ruler, would be greeted with joy by all the non-human races, even the Argonians, with whom she has been at pains to build a friendly relationship. On the other hand, Cyrodill's Imperials have mixed feelings about her, at best, and the Nords of Skyrim are openly racist and look on her with disdain. If she gets anywhere near the throne, another Stormcloak rebellion becomes a real possibility, though on the other hand there does not seem to be any new Jarl Ulfric waiting in the wings.

And the greatest problem of all: both of the two older brothers are in excellent health and cheerfully oblivious to their own lack of ability. They are not likely to resign the throne to their younger sibling, whom they like, but consider something of a loose cannon. Even if they could be "persuaded" to reconsider, their spouses and their spouses' families are not likely to go along. Thus, clearing the way to the throne for the third brother would almost certainly involve the removal of both of his siblings, perhaps by framing them for something disgraceful, but more likely by their physical elimination. The Dark Brotherhood has assassinated emperors before, of course, but even our most hardened operatives are hesitant about murdering two in quick succession.

The best solution would be to arrange a quarrel between the two older brothers that ends badly for both, and fortunately, they are known to loathe each other. But it would still be a very dangerous project to undertake. And a very presumptuous one, needless to say. We would be setting ourselves up as the final, secret tribunal to settle the question of who is most worthy to rule Tamriel. Despite its many advantages, it would be hard to conceive of anything more arrogant.

We have about three months to decide what to do next. Less, if the old Emperor's health declines more quickly than predicted. Interesting times.

-o-o-o-

There have been changes at home, too, in these last few years. Fortunately, in this case, the best path to choose has been much more obvious – even if there weren't so many fine people around me ready and willing – even eager – to tell me what to do.

Right from the start, I have tried to educate Zahana about her Khajiit heritage, instead of turning her into an Imperial with fur and a tail. I knew a little bit about the Khajiit when Zahana first came to live with me, but I only spoke a few words of their language, Ta'agra. Thus, one of my first priorities on arriving back in the Imperial City was to find her a tutor. This was easier for me that it would have been for many others. There weren't many Khajiit left in town, and those that remained were keeping a low profile, but one of the most admirable things about the Synod is that it has always been fiercely protective of its own. Several of my colleagues hail from Elsweyr. One in particular, Ashima, a widow about my own age who is one of the senior archivists in the Synod library, seemed the ideal choice. We have always been friendly, with a shared interest in the sort of books that do nothing for others but make them sneeze, and she was startled but fascinated the first time she found me wandering about the scroll-cases with a small, dark Khajiiti girl riding on my back, golden eyes peering over my shoulder, asking a continual stream of questions about anything and everything. For her part, Zahana liked Ashima at once, and so Ashima began dropping in every few days to talk with Zahana about the history and culture of the Khajiit and drill her on Ta'agra. Not to be left behind, I and Shah'issol joined in the language lessons, until in time both of us became reasonably fluent in the language. It amused Shah'issol no end.

"I've finally done something my parents didn't," she laughed. "Other than break that damned dragon staff at Skuldafn, so long ago. Mother's marriage with mom made mother a Telvanni, the first Argonian ever known to have become a member of a Morrowind noble house, and I've inherited that status. And now I've also become the only Argonian who speaks fluent Ta'agra. It's strange..." She thought for a moment. "The weirder things become, the more interesting they are, and the happier I am. Wish the Nords and all those other narrow-minded 'One people, one race, one state, one leader' boneheads would get that truth through their thick skulls."

I nodded. "Perhaps we should all take a crack at learning Jel some day, then."

Shah'issol laughed again. "The noble and subtle language of the Argonian people is probably too much for you at your time of life, _old man_. But I've taught the basics to Zahana already. Girl's mind is like a huge, hungry sponge, bring any sort of knowledge anywhere near it and it gets sucked inside to be instantly digested with a loud slurping noise and a burp or two. Do you know what she wants to study next? The blacksmith's trade, how to forge and repair weapons and armor. At ten years old. I asked her why, and she told me she wouldn't feel safe enchanting anything that she hadn't made herself. Besides, she said, it would be good exercise.

"If I didn't love her so much, I'd be a bit frightened at what she is becoming. She has to try harder at some things than others, but I haven't found _anything_ that's beyond her if she sets her heart on it. It's impressive, and humbling. I wonder what we're raising here?"

-o-o-o-

As months passed into years, Ashira became less and less a tutor, and more and more a member of our family, a family made up of an Imperial, two Khajiit, and an impossibly ancient but still lively Argonian, the strangest but no doubt the happiest family in all of Tamriel. We spent most of our evenings around the fire in my small parlor, Ashira and I under constant threat from tottering piles of crumbling old tomes, chasing down some esoteric scrap of history for our own amusement, while Zahana and Shah'issol sat opposite us chattering away in Jel, or teasing out some variation on an enchantment, when they weren't at the alchemy table compounding a ridiculously elaborate potion or elixir just to see how much the gods would let them get away with.

One spring morning about a week ago, Shah'issol and Ashira went off to the archives together, ostensibly to hunt down some material for Shah'issol's research, leaving me and Zahana holding the fort at home. Just before noon, Zahana came marching into my study with a determined look on her face. I looked up and smiled at her, as always a little bit dazed at how beautiful she had become and how quickly she seemed to learn anything that she pleased. She slipped behind my chair and draped herself over my shoulders, the childlike posture that she had retained for times when she wanted some special favor. But she seemed more serious now than when it had been a question of a new dress or a heavier blacksmith's hammer or some grotesquely overpriced alchemy ingredient that she and Shah'issol had decided that they couldn't live without.

I swung her around to sit on the desk in front of me. "We're completely broke, as usual, but of course I can get you one," I began. "Now, what is it this time?"

She shook her head, a knowing smile on her face. "Not something to buy."

"Well, I hope you don't want me to _steal_ anything. I'm getting a bit old for that kind of caper."

"You already stole it, silly." She giggled briefly. "All I want you to do now is confess, and make proper reparations to the injured party."

Riddles are a way of life if you have a child as brilliant as Zahana has become. Riddling was a way of teasing me, and perhaps of subtly hinting that I would do well to simply follow her lead, since she was so much more further ahead in everything than I. _Oh, to be young and pert again,_ I thought to myself, and nodded. As usual, I had no idea what she was talking about.

Out of the blue, she waved both her paws in front of my face. I blinked.

"Now, what was _that_ all about?"

"Nothing. Just checking to see if you'd gone blind. I was wondering."

"Enough," I said, still smiling. "I have no idea. Just tell me what it is, and I'll try to keep up with you."

"You really are a bit blind, dad. Or maybe you were too sleepy to see, last night."

"See what?"

"Ashira, silly. She's in love with you. You haven't noticed? She doesn't want to go home at night. She's lonely there by herself and she misses us all, but you most of all. I asked her, and she told me. You've stolen her heart, and you owe her yours in return. Tell her to stay tonight. And then ask her to marry you. You love her too, I bet, and I'd like to call her mommy without making you choke on your soup from surprise. Nana Shah'issol told me to be patient with you, that men are all _dumb as chunks of rock_ about things like this, but I don't think you're _that_ dumb. Nana wants Ashira to stay, too. When they come back this afternoon, give her a hug, kiss her, and ask her to marry you. Ashira, not Nana, of course. You can remember that, can't you? I can hide in my room for a while if you're too embarrassed to do it in front of your daughter. I can even look surprised when you tell me if you want."

I realized, without any surprise at all, that this was exactly what I was going to do. What was that that Shah'issol had said about Zahana having a seer's gift? Not that this had been a particularly difficult development to predict, I saw in retrospect.

Zahana shifted on the desk to look me in the eyes again.

"There's something else, too."

"You want to pick the wedding dress."

"No, that isn't it."

She was serious now. I wondered what was going through her mind.

"I hope you aren't asking for a younger brother or sister," I said, shaking my head. "Ashira and I are a bit old for that sort of thing, I think, though with the gods anything is possible."

Zahana didn't giggle at my suggestion. It _was_ something serious, then. She went on to explain, a bit shyly at first, no doubt worried that she might be bringing up painful memories for me.

"Nana told me about when you were young, daddy. She said that you were married to a very beautiful and wise Altmer lady, a great magician, named Elissa, whom you loved very much, and she loved you. But the gods took her quickly, and you were sad for a long while."

I nodded, a bit surprised, and wondered. Where was this going now?

"And Nana told me that she wanted you to name your daughter after her. But when you found me, I already had a name. I suppose you didn't think it would be fair to take away the name my own parents had given me, and give me a new one, no matter how pretty it was. It wouldn't have been fair, because my parents were already dead and couldn't say anything about it or stop you. That was really nice of you, and I think my parents must like you and respect you because of that."

Zahana paused again, very briefly, before going on.

"I _like_ Zahana, but it's a Khajiit name after all. I don't _have_ to give it up. I can be Zahana when I'm being Khajiit, when I'm speaking Ta'agra, but for the rest of the time, when I'm speaking the common tongue, I can just as well be Elissa. I like that name too, it's very pretty, and it would be fun to have two names. And your Elissa from the old times would be happy and perhaps she would come and sit with us in the parlor in the evenings as well. Even though we wouldn't see her, she would still be happy and you would be happier too."

I got up from my chair, and kissed my clever daughter on the top of her head.

"Elissa it is, then. You think of everyone, the living and the dead, " I told her. "Just like the Dragonborn in the old stories. No wonder Nana loves you so much. You must remind her of her mom, so long ago."

"And you love me too." She hugged me very hard. "Do you suppose I can be Dragonborn, then? It sounds really interesting."

I laughed. She was certainly getting ambitious.

"Well, for that, don't ask me. Ask Akatosh... Alkosh, that is, for the Khajiit. But not today."

"Aw, why not?" she pouted.

"Enough surprises for one day, love," I replied, and kissed her again. "Wait until tomorrow, and then we'll see."

_- the end -_


End file.
